


beware the wandering eye

by takesguts



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Sex, M/M, Mild Voyeurism, Underage Sex, idk what this is, older!Mickey, teenage!Ian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-12
Updated: 2017-01-12
Packaged: 2018-09-17 02:37:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9300362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/takesguts/pseuds/takesguts
Summary: What's the cost of peeping on your neighbors?





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'M NOT DEAD. Just lazy, with fluctuating inspiration. This isn't that good, but I wanted to do something.

For the first time in his life, Mickey has neighbors.

 

 

 

Not just the people that live in the house on either side of him, but honest to fuck neighbors. The kind that wave brightly to him while they leave for school in the morning, and have stopped over a few times with platefuls of extra pancakes and lasagna or some shit. He knows it's mostly because of his weekends with Yevgeny - there's no doubt in his mind he looks like Single Father Struggle Friday evenings to Sunday afternoons.

 

 

  
It's the youngest girl, that stops by with the food mostly, and always demands in a particularly adult and certain tone that he let his son come over to play sometimes. They have a youngest sibling, who is a little older then Yev and curiously enough, black. Before everything, Mickey might have never even considered the option of allowing that, determined to make it fighting tooth and nail just them against everything.

 

 

  
Now he can appreciate the offer, see the good in it. It's a weird feeling.

 

 

  
Babysitting he's alright with, gives him a couple of hours to get things done that he can't while having to monitor a child.

 

 

He draws the line at paying teenage boys to shovel his driveway, however. Which is exactly what happens one morning, in the midst of his once a week pros and cons list about moving into an actual house. Fucking Mandy, fucking Svetlana, making a big fucking deal about how it's the next step, he's twenty eight, Yev is only getting bigger.

 

 

"For twenty bucks," a voice says to his left, "I'll do that for you."

 

 

Snapping his head over, Mickey sees one of the Gallagher boy's - Ian, he thinks his name is, though they really haven't been properly introduced. Fiona had mainly rattled off a list of names in a hurricane of movement upon their initial meeting.

 

 

"Do I look like I need fucking help?" Mickey can't help but bark, a little peeved by the boy's insinuation. He's not that fucking old, he can manage to shovel a damn driveway and not throw his fucking back out.

 

 

"Nah," Ian says breezily, stuffing his hands into his coat pocket, "just tryna make twenty bucks."

 

 

Mickey's surprised by his honesty, wonders if it's maybe a little rude. Then he thinks about teenage Mickey, how he would have scammed some pathetic sap like himself at least fifteen times over already, and figures that's probably way worse.

 

 

  
"Twenty bucks is a little steep," Mickey comments, raising his eyebrows.

 

 

  
"It's a big driveway," he replies, not missing a beat.

 

 

  
Mickey snorts, "your case needs work. You tryna get some beer?" He hazards a guess, considers what his seventeen year old self would have needed twenty bucks for if he was bold enough to go asking for it.

 

 

Ian slides his gaze away, shrugs ineffectually, "something like that."

 

 

  
If Mickey was good at this sort of thing, he would almost think that Ian looks a little guilty, or uncomfortable. As it is, though, he doesn't really care that much and he's not gonna pay the kid.

 

 

"Sorry man," he says, "I'm good," there's no way he's going to be able to cage his pride in enough to let this transaction happen, "but I know two blocks over, the purple house, the lady there likes payin young guys for handiwork, if you catch my drift." He bounces his eyebrows, grinning kind of obnoxiously.

 

 

  
Laughing, Ian takes a step backward, "Cool, man, thanks for the heads up."

 

 

  
Mickey doesn't say you're welcome or bye, just nods and promptly forgets about the whole thing later when he's sipping a beer and crawling on the floor with his son.

 

 

\- - - - - - -

 

 

Later, much later, he is promptly reminded of it, of Ian, when he happens to glance out his bedroom window as he's getting changed for bed. It's a split second, luck of the fucking draw or something, he supposes, but he happens to look up at the precise moment he sees Ian push someone down onto a mattress before following in suit.

 

 

It's a man. A much older man.

 

 

  
Immediately, Mickey turns around, and his heart is racing for some reason.

 

 

It feels like catching yourself right before you fall down the stairs. Or finding out a secret about someone that leaves you absolutely floored. Which is what is actually fucking happening.

 

 

Ian is gay - there's a gay guy living on his street. Another gay guy, his mind supplies, peeved at the notion it's like finding a rare species. For him, it is. After a brief, but spectacular, whirlwind of nameless guys for a few months a couple of years back following his father's death Mickey knocked it off with that shit real quick. Chlamydia and the return of your baby mama and kid into your life will make sure of that.

 

 

He's not ashamed, not anymore, but he sure as fuck can't be sleeping around like that with Yevgeny in his life now. Dating requires time and patience, which he has very little of (and perhaps, maybe too much pride). Not to mention he wouldn't even know how to attempt to even start.

 

 

So he's a little shocked, whatever. It's not any of his business, what the kid does or whom he does it with. Even if it makes him uneasy at the thought of how old that man was. He chalks it up to parental concern, the rolling of his stomach. Some creepy old fuck touching a teenager like that.

 

 

It takes every ounce of willpower not to glance back through the window, and he forces himself to lay on his bed, body burning. Sleep does not come easy that night.

 

 

  
\- - - - - - - -

Over the next two weeks, Mickey is pretty mortified by his newly developed habit of peeking over into Ian's room. He's mildly surprised he never noticed how clearly he can see into the room before, but then again, he's not. Until the one night, there had never been anything to see.

 

 

He feels like the worst kind of person, peeping on some teenager like this. A large part of him swears it's a reasonable adult thing to do, make sure the kid isn't getting in any trouble or being harmed. There's a smaller part, though, just a murmur, but there nonetheless that suggests there's some mild perversion going on as well. Ian is gay, Ian is good looking - taller then Mickey, even at seventeen. The red hair and broad shoulders certainly help; Mickey has a type, what the fuck ever. The guy jogs every morning, obviously he takes care of himself; Mickey sees him on his way to work. Something he also never noticed before until the incident. It's like Ian is everywhere, now that Mickey knows.

 

 

A bit shamefully, he's aware it's cause he's seeking him out now. Trying to find something out, see if Ian knows about him, if there's one man or many men. He doesn't jerk off to it, or anything - not even when he sees Ian in just a pair of boxer briefs, lounging around his room a few times or right after he's showered. He doesn't even stare that long, just a glimpse or two here and there.

 

 

Since that night, though, there hasn't been anyone else. They also haven't interacted again, outside of nods of acknowledgement in passing, but Mickey isn't sure how he would be able to talk to him anyway. Doesn't trust himself not to act like an asshole, despite the one million questions he's been obsessing over. That's his M.O, of course, living in his metaphorical closet. Almost thirty fucking years old and jealous over the blatant confidence this kid seems to have in himself, to just be who he is. Have men over and fuck them at his house, like it's not a big deal.

 

 

Even if Mickey isn't ashamed, it's never still felt quite right. A lingering sense of wishing it could have been another way.

 

 

  
\- - - - - -

 

 

A decision is made for him, it seems - not that he really knew there was one to be made. There was no real plan, no certain intention.

 

 

Until Ian Gallagher shows up at his front door, like he's done it a thousand times before.

 

 

"Uh," Mickey says, ever eloquent, and the brightness of Ian's smile is damn near blinding.

 

 

"Hello, neighbor," he says, as if Mickey isn't staring at him dumbly, "I was wondering if I could borrow a cup of sugar."

 

 

What the fuck?

 

 

Sputtering, Mickey gives him an sharp look, "Are you fucking serious?"

 

 

Ian seems to consider this, squinting his eyes aa bit and glancing upward. His mouth twitches, "No, not really. I just wanted an excuse to get into your house. It's fucking cold out, so do you mind?"

 

 

Again with the honesty; Mickey blinks, a bit perturbed and doesn't do a damn thing. Rolling his eyes, Ian shoves past him and strolls into his house.

 

 

"I thought about coming over here with a bat," he's saying, walking further down the front hall, glancing around. It takes Mickey an embarrassing amount of time to manage to shut his door and follow him; he should be busting this kids knees in for this shit, coming in uninvited. Maybe he really is getting old.

 

 

Ian stops in his living room and turns around to face him, "But then I did the math. Single dad, lives alone, never has any women over." He says all this, ticking the comments off on his fingers as he peers haughtily at Mickey, "You want to know what I came up with?"

 

 

Blood is rushing in Mickey's ears; he knows, this kid fucking knows. He's seen Mickey watching him, caught him at some point. Fuck, fucking shit.

 

 

"You're a big fucking homo," Ian says gleefully, "who apparently likes to spy on teenage boys, but that's okay. You've got a type." He pauses, expression turning something lecherous, "I happen to also have a type."

 

 

"Geriatric patients?" Mickey finds himself saying, his traitorous mouth speaking the words before he can even really process them. It's always been a problem of his; react first, deal with the consequences later. Realistically, he shouldn't be baiting the kid, not if he didn't want the fucking cops called on him.

 

 

But Ian only seems delighted, and he snickers at Mickey's comment like it's actually funny, and not the result of Mickey being a lurking peeping tom.

 

 

Suddenly, Ian's face changes back, eyes darkening and Mickey feels hot all over. There's no way, no way this is happening. Shit like this doesn't happen to Mickey, ever.

 

 

"What's that make you then?" He inquires, voice curling like smoke around the words.

 

 

Mickey swallows, Ian smirks.

 

 

"What the - "

 

 

"Been such a naughty thing, haven't you?" Ian continues, taking a few strides toward Mickey, sure and steady. It should sound ridiculous, what he's saying, he's a fucking teenager and Mickey should be stopping him, kicking him out. Should try to come up with some excuse, tell him he's a private detective or some shit and is following the guy he brought home the other week.

 

 

He should not be letting Ian step up in his space, looking down at him. It's only a few inches, but it feels like Ian is practically looming over him, surrounding his prey.

 

 

"Fucking," Mickey swears, "what the fuck are you doing?"

 

 

"What's it look like," Ian deadpans, snorting, "I'll give you three guesses."

 

 

Mickey's racking his brain, trying to think of anything to get out of this, he swears he used to be quicker then this. Gone soft, apparently. He thinks it's the being a home owner

 

.

Ian's apparently bluffing though, because it's only a matter of seconds before Mickey finds himself bent over the arm of his couch. Ian's got one hand on the small of his back, the other smoothing across his ass; his grip is tight, but not too forceful. He's giving Mickey an opportunity to back out.

 

 

Ian is gay, and likes older men; Ian wants to fuck him.

 

 

Jaw clenching, Mickey refrains from the whole body shudder that threatens to move through him. It's really been a long time.

 

 

His silence must speak for him; Ian's palming his ass in earnest now, fingers squeezing tighter around the curve of his cheeks and then pressing up.

 

 

"So cute," he murmurs behind Mickey, and Mickey's face burns with equal parts embarrassment and arousal. He isn't fully hard yet, but his body is telling him it's definitely going to happen. There's no reason for Ian to be this sexy, Mickey certainly fucking wasn't at his age. "Would you pull them down for me?"

 

 

Once upon a time, Mickey would have responded with a scathing fuck off, not remotely interested in playing around with guys like that. But Ian is good at it - sounds appreciative and polite, even though he's actually demanding. Hands trembling, just a bit, Mickey wriggles his hands under his pelvis to awkwardly undo his pants and shove them down far enough that they slip down from his thighs.

 

 

"Really cute," Ian amends, groaning throatily, the sound so masculine that Mickey's toes curl into his carpet. "Just look at that, do you work out?"

 

 

"Shut the fuck up," Mickey snaps, but it's useless, he knows. Not when he's still bent over, not when it comes out so breathless.

 

 

Fingers pinch the very cleft of his left ass cheek, sharp and twisting, "That's not how this works," he mentions calmly, but Mickey can tell it's a warning. The hand on his back slips lower, so that he's got a grip on both of Mickey's ass cheeks, spreading them to get a peek at his asshole, "Fuck, that looks real good, Mick. Who knew you had such a perfect ass?"

 

 

"Get on with it," he bites, humiliated at the attention Ian is apparently set on dishing out. He just wants to fuck, Ian doesn't have to treat him like some chick.

 

 

Chuckling, Ian reaches over Mickey's shoulder to set down a condom and lube. Fucker came prepared, apparently. The noise his belt buckle makes when he undoes it has Mickey squirming, just a bit. All of his weight is resting on his elbows, and he risks a glance over his shoulder only to find Ian staring right at him, like he anticipated Mickey's movement.

 

 

His grin is lethal; all teeth and unholy, and he runs a hand through his rather stylishly cut hair, which is a stupid thought to have, but Ian already knows Mickey's checking him out, has BEEN checking him out. And that's even more stupid.

 

 

"So pushy," he says, clucking his tongue, "awfully demanding considering the position you're in."

 

 

Mickey growls, pushes his ass back, and that seems to work at least momentarily. The collected demeanor Ian seems to have total control over slips momentarily at the movement. Mickey can feel the press of Ian's cock along his ass, hard and fucking glorious.

 

 

Mickey opts for a different tactic.

 

 

"Want your cock," he moans, maybe a little over the top, but it seems to work because all resolve the red head seemed to have before disappears and he's left rutting helplessly against Mickey's ass, grunting and groaning like a proper teenager.

 

 

The next moan Mickey makes isn't fake; something about this - the way Ian's snapping his hips, over and over, semi uncoordinated. The drag of his jeans is distracting, and Mickey finds himself spreading his legs wider, trying to him closer.

 

 

"Come on," he urges, whiney and desperate, "take your dick out, please, let me feel it."

 

 

"Mickey," Ian sighs, and it's a few more desperate rolls of his pelvis before he manages to stop himself. It's cute, how eager he is now; so boyish and chasing his own pleasure over Mickey's. It feels so good, to let that control be handed over.

 

 

  
"That's it," Mickey encourages, blinking slowly as the teenager drops his own pants and boxers in a movement that is particularly practiced and the older man is once again left scrambling after the redhead's sexual prowess. And perhaps more pressingly, the size of Ian's dick; he exhales noisily.

 

 

If Ian was sure of himself before, it's nothing compared to how he is now - smiling wide and so goddamn thrilled, a performer revealing his biggest (oh fuck, what) trick. Without a word, Ian spreads him open again, pressing the blunt head of his dick right against Mickey's hole. Helplessly, his jaw drops, mouth wet and his eyes nearly crossing from the sound he's holding back in his throat. He presses in, just barely; enough for it to burn just a bit, muscles clenching reflexively at the pressure and Ian chuckles lowly, suddenly so close to his ear.

 

 

  
"Lube," he says softly, and yet still without any room for protest, reaching his hand over Mickey's left shoulder and wiggling his fingers for effect. Mickey is practically panting as he pops open the cap on the bottle, drizzling an obscene amount lube all over Ian's long, thick fingers, then his palm when he turns his hand - it's messy, some dripping off onto his shoulder, his couch, floor.

 

 

Two fingers replace where Ian had been resting his cock, wet and slick, circling around Mickey's rim. He pushes two finger tips in, switching to one when Mickey huffs a little uncertainly. It really has been awhile.

 

 

"Holy shit," Ian laughs, sliding his index finger all the way in, as deep as he can manage, until the bottom of his palm is pressed right below his asshole, "shit you're so tight."

 

 

"Yeah, yeah," he grunts, cheeks burning; everything Ian says is so explicit, so comfortable talking to and about a man like this.

 

 

"Seriously," he says, thrusting his finger slowly, intentionally, "if I had known about this gorgeous ass sooner, you wouldn't have had to spend all that time spying on me."

 

 

"I wasn't-" Mickey protests, suddenly finding his voice about the whole thing now all of all the moments, but Ian pushing in a second finger cuts his would be explanation short. "Ohh, uhn."

 

 

"Water under the bridge," Ian replies, "you're about to make it up to me fine enough. I'm not lying - your ass is grade A spank bank material for growing boys."

 

 

Any retort Mickey might have had to the lewdness of that comment dissolves pathetically at the way Ian is fingering him steadily now, in and out, in and out; so strong and fucking sure.

 

 

  
"Looks different without all those wrinkles, huh," he does manage to gasp out, even as he's rocking back eagerly, his own dick dragging against the arm of the couch every so often.

 

 

  
A sharp smack lands on his left ass check and Mickey is rightfully a bit embarrassed at the way he jumps.

 

 

  
More laughter, a third finger, "in case you weren't sure, your insults don't hit home quite the way you want when I'm getting you open for my cock."

 

 

  
And really, Mickey has no more argument left - instead he shuffles his legs open a little more, bending further. The onslaught of Ian's big, stupid fingers has his knees quaking and all conversation drops when Ian finally starts breathing heavier behind him.

 

 

  
"Fuck, fuck," Mickey chants, biting harshly at his lip, "fuck me, ohh, fuck me."

 

 

  
"Yeah," Ian agrees, "yeah I'm gonna," his fingers are gone and Mickey can hear the quiet, slick sound of the younger man jerking his own cock. In a swift, hungry movement, Ian starts to push his cock in, so different from the way he had been expertly fingering him. Mickey has a blind moment of fuckyesplease, but -

 

 

  
"Condom," he pants, reaching back to swat at Ian, the package between his fingers, "condom."

 

 

  
It may have been a long time, but Mickey is still the real adult here, all of Ian's apparent experience aside.

 

 

  
Ian groans in disappointment, taking a second more to press in just a little further, no doubt trying to extend the feeling of his bare cock in Mickey's ass. Insistently, Mickey squirms, repeating himself again.

 

 

  
"Fuck, fine," he relents, pulling out and hurriedly taking the condom, ripping it open and rolling it on. Clumsily, he works his dick back inside, thrusting in sharp, short movements that seem the most uncontrolled he's been this entire time. "Jesus, fuck, that's fucking tight, so fucking tight."

 

 

Mickey wants to say something like, haven't we established this, or shut the hell up, or anything other then the strangled, eager noise he makes instead.

 

 

 

 

"I've never," Ian starts, a little hysterically as he starts fucking Mickey ruthlessly, one hand curling around Mickey's hip, the other flat on the small of his back, "never been like this, this is so good." 

 

 

  
"Christ," Mickey groans, annoyed - either at Ian's relentless talking or how thoroughly he's been fucked by the teenager. "If you fucking come right now I swear to fuck -"

 

 

There's a rush of hot air next to his ear, and it makes his whole spine tingle, "Doubting my stamina, old man?" He breathes, low and amused, "I'm clearly not doing a good enough job if you're able to complain. Let's see if we can fix that."

 

 

  
Ian does, in fact, fix that not even three minutes later when he's rendered Mickey into nothing but a babbling, incoherent mess, eyes wet while he moans over and over and over. At some point, Mickey will have to actually think about this, talk about this, but for now he's content. For someone so young, Ian sure knows what he's doing. Mickey thinks maybe he could ask for some pointers, too.

**Author's Note:**

> SORRY THIS ENDED KINDA ABRUPTLY. As I kept writing I realized that even if I explicitly wrote and finish the smut, I had no real end game in terms of plot. It ended up having way more of that then I intended. All that needs to be known is: Mickey peeped, then got nailed. Wooooh! 
> 
>  
> 
> I am working on thingsssss. An update for dark, and heart obsessed IS being worked on. Slowly. As well as some companion fics. I promise I'm not deserting! 
> 
>  
> 
> THANKS FOR READING, LOVELIES. AND STOPPING BY. AND SAYING HI. 
> 
> namaste!


End file.
